A couple of weeks ago, we went to an oyster roast on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. I don’t particularly like oysters, but man, I love an oyster roast. I love the smoky, briny smell in the air, and the gathering around the tables, and the sense that this is an old, beloved tradition that connects us to the people who came before, and will connect us to those who come after. And the mess. I love the mess.
Oyster shells everywhere, spilled butter and sauce, dirty knives and grimy gloves. I just love it. I think there’s something homey and comfortable about it, and about making that kind of mess with other people who appreciate the tradition, too.
*March is Women’s History Month, and tomorrow, March 8th, is International Women’s Day. I wrote a poem around this time last year – you can find it here – and so it felt right to post something this year, too. I hope you like it, and please be sure to take some time this month (especially tomorrow) to appreciate all of the amazing women in your life, past and present. I have many. They have my heart.*
A story we’ve heard: The first of us all (to fall) – help-meet and wife, made and prized, then punished, removed and reviled. The woman who became a warning.
And history became both judge and jury, gave us no choice, no voice. The story became ours, but it never belonged to us. And before, and now, down in our bones we know it.
We know: It is human to fall and rise again, to seek, to learn, to live in curiosity. And so, can we reclaim her, weave her story anew and see her, this mother of mothers?
Blood of our blood – can we finally love (not blame) her?
Just a fun, silly something for this sunny Friday. Enjoy!
Good morning from the Land of Almost There, where we celebrate a week’s close with friends and beer. Tonight, we’ll pretend the work’s at an end for two days’ time and change, and hang our hopes on brighter days when we’ll be free to do as we please. This is your invite. Don’t be late!
March often surprises us here in Virginia with one last snow. But today, it’s sunny and not too cold, and I can feel the season changing. I love winter best, but there’s nothing quite like watching the world come alive again in the spring.